Thankful
by Ibelieveinsam
Summary: Preseries: Torn between family loyalty and wanting normal, Sam decides to make it up to his family with a traditional Thanksgiving meal but he might be in over his head.


A/N: I'm not sure where this story idea came from but I think I always wanted to see a Winchester Thanksgiving, no matter how non traditional it might be. This story is preseries so it's set some time before the pilot. Sam is 15 and Dean is 19.

A/N 2: A sincere thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing my stories lately. I've been on a writing spree and the reviews, favorites, follows, and pms have motivated me so much. I'm especially humbled by some of the anonymous reviews I received for Lazarus that I could not reply to personally. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also, to all those who celebrate, have a happy Thanksgiving! I hope to see you next time for my Christmas story too :)

* * *

 **Thankful**

"We'll be in touch okay squirt?" Dean Winchester said to his younger brother, Sam, as he closed the door of the passenger side of the car. Their dad was in the front, looking straight ahead. He'd already given a small wave.

"Yeah, see you later," Sam said, half heartedly.

"I'm sure you'll be great in "Death of A Shoe Guy," or whatever it's called.

"It's Death of a Salesman," Sam corrected, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah that," Dean said.

"Remember what I told you," John said, sternly, while Dean looked on confusedly. Then they sped off with a screech, burning rubber and leaving treadmarks on the road.

"I'm playing Biff, you know! A lead role," Sam called after the car, even though he knew that Dean and his dad could not hear him.

Sam watched as they drove off, until the car was a mere pinprick on the road.

"It's a play for juniors and seniors and I'm only a sophomore but I got the part," Sam rambled on, aware of the fact that he was talking to himself in the middle of the sidewalk and that if the neighbors saw they'd probably think he was crazy.

 _They probably already think we're crazy,_ Sam thought to himself. _The way we moved in here in the middle of the night and with the odd hours we keep, while mostly keeping to ourselves._

"Be careful," he whispered quietly. He always wondered when they drove off if it might be the last time he saw his family alive. They were off to hunt a werewolf, their second in the last month, but Dean was just as excited as if it was the first hunt. He was supposed to be with them, so he knew if something happened that it was on him. His dad had reminded him again that if anything went wrong that it was his fault just a second ago with his cryptic comment, "remember what I told you," that not even Dean understood.

They were renting an apartment this time, a rare event for them but the town was fairly small so there wasn't exactly an abundance of hotels. His dad had managed to get a short lease on it, and it was completely furnished with a working phone. The lease was for a couple months, but Sam knew the likelihood of them being there that long was nil. The only reason they'd been here the past month was because after the first werewolf kill, the murders had started up again in the next town over which was just a short drive from where they were staying.

Sam knew it had been complete luck, or lack of luck for the senior with the broken leg, that he'd gotten the part of Biff. The senior football player originally had the role but had been injured in a game. Sam was completely new to the school but when he saw the sign that they were desperately seeking a "quick study" for the part, he couldn't help but try out. The original Biff didn't even have an understudy because the school was so tiny. There also wasn't much competition for the part as only a few other students showed up for the audition.

However, they _were_ mostly juniors and seniors so he could give himself _some_ credit for landing the part. At first the director didn't think he was right for the role. He was small and Biff was supposed to be this athlete. However, he was the only one who went in there with most of the lines already memorized. He loved the play, even if he never "officially" read it for school yet. It hadn't been assigned to him but he when he picked it up, he found himself relating to it. Sure he couldn't play an athlete but playing someone who had issues with his dad? Well, _that_ he could do.

He had told Dean and his dad that he had to participate in the play, that it was worth half his English grade. It was a small fib. Technically since his English teacher was part of the drama department that did mean he was supposed to be involved somehow or he'd lose a few points off his grade, but it didn't need to be on the grand scale it was. He could have volunteered to sell tickets or hand out programs on opening night. His dad wasn't usually swayed by such pronouncements but Dean sometimes rallied for him, so this time it worked in his favor. Sam thought he saw a hint of disappointment in Dean's eyes but he did talk his dad into letting Sam stay home this time.

"It _is_ half his grade," Dean had said. "That's like, what, 25 percent?" Dean said, with a wink.

He knew Dean was joking. He wasn't dumb by any means. In fact he knew his brother was very smart. He just wasn't someone who was interested in going to school.

Sam walked back towards the house, up the steep stairwell to their fourth floor apartment. He could smell some things cooking. Thanksgiving was the next day and they'd been released from school early for the day, after the big pep rally. He had tried to show some school spirit but that was difficult, given he'd only been at the school for just under a month. He didn't have ties to anywhere really, a banner to wave. His school colors would probably be red and black, red for blood and black for the Impala.

As he turned the doorknob, he felt a slight ache in his stomach that he wouldn't be having a Thanksgiving feast the next day. They'd probably get Chinese food or KFC or something on their way out of town. It was what they usually did. He'd once had a normal Thanksgiving with another family a few years before but it was hardly ideal. Sure, he'd been excited to sit down for a traditional meal, but the people were merely a flicker in his memory and not the most important people in his life. However, he pushed that aside because for now he had the play and he needed to get ready. He loved the idea of playing someone else, _anyone_ else. Too often he was told who he had to be, especially by his father. The play would give him the chance to release some of the frustration he had been suppressing.

ooooo

That night at the play, the house was packed. It was as if no one in town had anything to do and Sam supposed maybe they didn't. However, for him, it was electrifying. When he delivered his lines in the second act, he could tell the audience was moved.

"Why am I trying to become what I don't want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say who I am! Why can't I say that Willy?" Sam said, with such conviction that in the moment, he was Biff.

"I'm not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you," Sam continued. "Pop, I'm nothing! I'm nothing, Pop. Can't you understand that? There's no spite in it anymore. I'm just what I am, that's all," Sam recited, feeling deflated, just as Biff probably felt.

Sam could feel the emotion overcome him. He was so torn. At times he did feel like nothing. He was no good as a hunter, drove his father crazy, and was a burden to his brother. He wasn't much different than Biff at all. However, maybe there was something more for him out there, something normal. He didn't want to let his family down but he had to be who he was because he just wasn't meant for this life.

"Will you let me go for Christ's sake? Will you take that phony dream and burn it before something happens?" Sam said, loudly, tears dripping from his eyes, as he talked to the person playing Willy, his father. However, for him, it was as if he was talking to his real father, finally telling him that his hopes and dreams did not involve hunting, and they never would. Why couldn't he understand that? He and Dean would be better off without him.

Finally it was the last scene, after Willy's death, and Sam, acting as Biff, comforted the actress playing his mother. The next thing Sam knew, the curtain was falling and there was rousing applause. People were on their feet, clapping, some with tears in their eyes.

Sam smiled brightly as he took his final bow and he scanned the audience. They were giving him a standing ovation, yet he felt the smile falling from his face as quickly as the curtain closed. He didn't know why he felt this way but he _guessed_ some part of him half expected to see his family out there, among the crowd cheering for him too. When he signed up, did he think they would come? Yes, he did. But then he knew they weren't coming, yet why did he feel so empty?

As he left, people clapped him on the back, showered him with accolades but they were all hollow. None of them were from his family and he still didn't have the courage to tell his dad how he really felt about the life they were living.

He walked home from the school slowly, as a light drizzle fell on him in the raw cold. He walked through leaves, somewhat damp from the weather but yet still he was rewarded with the satisfying crunch and pop under his sneakers as he walked. A pleasant smell of smoke filled his nostrils from wood stoves burning in the area and he imagined people behind the doors of the cozy houses, anticipating the next day's festivities. He shivered a bit as he walked, now back to being Sam Winchester, trapped in a life he didn't want and too afraid to speak up about it.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment and was almost mowed over by two kids running down the stairs.

"Daddy!" They chorused, jumping into a man's arms. "We missed you! Mom is already cooking for Thanksgiving tomorrow."

Sam smiled sadly as he got out of the way, walking to his own dark apartment, no warmth inside from an oven.

There was a message blinking on the phone and he felt a knot form in his stomach. Usually when his dad and Dean were on the road, they'd check up on him but this seemed pretty fast.

 _Something must have happened._

He knew it. Deep down, he felt the pain already. Something had happened to Dean.

He approached the phone, tentatively and hit the button to play the message.

"Sam, it's dad. I'm at the hospital," the gravelly sounding voice responded on the other end.

Sam instantly felt a cold sweat break out on his neck because if it was his dad talking, then Dean was the one hurt.

"We got the kill but Dean got banged up. They are keeping an eye on him right now. Call me when you get this."

Sam realized his hands were trembling as he picked up the receiver and tried to dial the numbers to his dad's phone. Twice he dialed incorrectly and had to dial again.

"Dad," Sam said, when he finally reached his father. "How's Dean?"

"Resting. Could be worse, but it could be better too," he said gruffly.

"Tell him I'm thinking about him," Sam said, quietly. _Tell him I'm sorry,_ Sam thought to himself.

"Well I'm sure he'd prefer action to thoughts, Sammy. If we had a little extra backup, we'd probably be on our way out of town by now. Now Dean has five stitches in his head instead."

The words cut right through him, leaving his insides tattered.

Sam stayed silent on the other end of the line, biting his lip, holding back tears.

"Once they release him, we'll hunker down for the night in a hotel so Dean can rest. They actually have one in this town so we'll drive back tomorrow," John continued.

"Okay," Sam squeaked out, his voice barely above a whisper.

The line clicked on the other end and Sam choked out the sob he was holding in. He felt like a crybaby but he couldn't help it. He was worried about his brother. He wiped his nose and tried to get a hold of himself. Any elation he felt before about the play was gone. Even though Dean hadn't been there, he had been looking forward to telling Dean about it because he would have wanted to know. He was angry his dad hadn't even asked about the play, even though he knew it was selfish of him with Dean being hurt.

He began straightening out the apartment as a way to distract himself from the guilt he felt, over Dean's injury and over his selfishness. He wasn't so sure what he could do to make it up to his family. Despite everything, he did love his family. He wouldn't want his story to have an ending like Biff's with his father's death and still resentment between them. He especially didn't want a rocky relationship with his brother.

Then suddenly it hit him. He _could_ make it up them. What if he made them Thanksgiving dinner? It would give Dean a chance to rest and have a good meal, if he cooked it correctly that was. Maybe this would make it up to his family in some small way. It was the best of both worlds. He could still have some semblance of normalcy too and also show his family that he wasn't completely useless.

He looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearing nine o'clock and he wasn't so sure how long the grocery store would be open. Would they even have any turkeys left?

He found himself rushing to the small room he shared with Dean and grabbing a box filled with some money. His dad had left him some to order out. He counted about thirty bucks. Would this be enough? He supposed so. He'd need to get the turkey, some potatoes, and vegetables. Of course he'd need pie too. He knew that would make it up to Dean. He just hoped his brother would feel up to eating.

ooooo

When Sam got to the small grocery store, it was packed with shoppers. Apparently some people had forgotten items necessary for their dinner. He ran over to the turkey display case and his heart sunk. There were just three turkeys left, one was at least 30 pounds and he knew they definitely didn't need that. The others were a lot smaller, seemingly too small. However, Sam chose one anyway because he needed it. It said it was just eight pounds.

There was a shopper next to him, and Sam peered in his basket. He had boxes of potato flakes and a box of stuffing.

"Taking a few shortcuts," the guy said with a shrug, when he saw Sam looking.

Sam thought it was perfect. He didn't know too much about making mashed potatoes anyway. This would be faster. He found the "instant" aisle and grabbed a box of potato flakes and stuffing too. He also grabbed a can of gravy as well. He ran to the frozen foods and grabbed some frozen vegetables, including squash and corn. He didn't think anyone would mind since it's not like they were big herbivores anyway. He then dashed over to the dessert aisle and grabbed the very last already baked apple pie. He just hoped he had enough money because the store was closing soon.

He got in line and prepared to wait. He watched the clock anxiously as it neared 9:30 which was the time the store was set to close. At exactly 9:29, just as the cashier announced her line was closed, Sam made it to the front of the line. He was relieved when his total came to 29.45 which was a few cents under budget.

He walked home with his purchases, weighed down by the bags, but feeling lighter.

The building was silent when he got inside, except for a few televisions he could hear coming from behind apartment doors. He opened the door to their apartment and placed the bags on the counter. He realized then he had no clue how to make a turkey or really any of it at all. He'd never seen anyone prepare a Thanksgiving dinner before in his life. The turkey didn't come with instructions and it was too late to go to the library to research on it. The library would be closed tomorrow too. He cursed himself for his stupidity and for thinking he could pull this off. He did know the turkey was frozen so that would need to thaw overnight anyway.

He left the turkey on the counter and hoped for an epiphany when he was sleeping. He put the other items away to prepare them tomorrow. He knew those had instructions on the box so it couldn't be too difficult. He'd seen a set of pans in the stove before so he knew he had those at least.

He settled in for bed and sent up a silent prayer that Dean was doing better and the next day he'd be able to prepare the Thanksgiving feast.

ooooo

He had set the alarm clock early so he was up by 6 AM. The turkey had been thawing for almost 8 hours but when he walked into the kitchen, he could see that it still seemed frozen.

 _It has to thaw while it's cooking right?_ He thought to himself.

He could already smell the neighbor's cooking turkeys wafting into his apartment and it struck him.

 _I'll ask them!_

He knew the people next door were the Wagner's because he talked to the grandmother once. She'd seen him coming in from school before and welcomed him to the building. He walked out into the hallway and he could hear a lot of clanging pots and pans coming from their house so he didn't think it would be an imposition to ask a couple of questions.

He knocked and was greeted at the door by the mother of the family, not the grandmother.

"Hi, I...I'm getting ready to go over my grandma's later for a big Thanksgiving feast," Sam lied.

She looked at him and yawned. She was dressed in a bathrobe, her hair in curlers.

"That's nice," she said, tiredly.

"Well my grandma is getting a bit forgetful and she's making the turkey but she needs to know how long to cook it for." Secretly he was proud at how adept he was at lying but that came with the territory.

"Ma!" The woman yelled, startling Sam, and then the grandmother appeared before Sam.

"Oh hello there," she said kindly. "Sam isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, shyly.

"I heard you were fantastic in Death of a Salesman last night. One of my friends from the senior center went to the show and brought me back a program. She just went on and on about the boy playing Biff. Even Brian seemed to enjoy it."

Sam blushed. Brian was her grandson and also attended the high school. He didn't seem like someone who would be into watching plays. Sam mostly saw him hanging outside the school, smoking cigarettes, a skateboard in his hand. However, he knew looks could be deceiving. He was proof of that.

"Th...Thank you," he stuttered. "So how long to cook the turkey?" Sam asked, cutting to the chase.

"How many pounds?" She asked.

"Eight I think," Sam said.

"Well that's pretty small. Usually it's 30 minutes for every half pound," she said.

"So four hours then. Thanks!" Sam said, dashing back across the hall.

He was guessing she wanted to discuss it more but he had all the info he needed.

"My grandma says thanks too!" He called again, and then closed the door. He had work to do.

ooooo

He figured if he got the turkey in the oven by 7, that it would be all cooked by 11 AM, which would work out well because he figured his dad would check out of the hotel by 11 AM. That way when they got home, the meal would be pretty much done.

Sam set to work removing the turkey from its wrapping. The turkey was ice cold, yet slippery and hard to handle. Sam found a deep pan in the oven that looked like it could hold the turkey. He wrestled the turkey into the pan and got it into the oven. He realized then he'd forgotten to ask how many degrees the turkey should be cooked on.

 _I'll just wing it,_ he thought to himself. Then he smirked at his own pun.

He put the oven at 500 degrees and it also dawned on him then that he hadn't seasoned the turkey or anything like that but it wasn't like his family were connoisseurs of quality food so he figured it'd be fine. Maybe throw on a little salt and pepper and they'd be good. He headed into the living room to settle in to watch some TV while he waited.

He suddenly found himself waking up to the smell of smoke and realized he must have dozed off. He choked and gasped as the heavy air made it hard to breathe. He rushed to the kitchen to see the oven had great plumes of smoke streaming from it and he yanked open the oven to see the charbroiled turkey was actually in flames.

In his haste to try to put out the fire, he grabbed two towels and grasped the handles on the pan. Instantly he regretted it as he felt blistering pain scorch through his palms. However, he bit his lip and soldiered on because he had to get the fire out. However, it was too much for him to hold on to the handles and the turkey clattered to the floor, still engulfed. He bent down, took the towel and used one of his already burned hands to pat at the turkey in an attempt to put out the fire. After several agonizing seconds, the fire continued to burn and caught on to the towel. Sam watched in horror as the fire jumped from the towel and began to creep up the long, dingy curtains. With the oven door open, even more thick smoke had permeated the air and he was choking, gasping for air, as spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

 _Don't pass out,_ he thought as he tried to motivate himself and will himself to his feet but he found he was incapable of standing. He coughed again feebly, as his oxygen starved lungs burned and screamed for air. He hadn't heard a smoke alarm go off, and he needed to warn his neighbors.

He crawled to the door, staying low to try to avoid the smoke. He reached up for the doorknob and felt pain tear through his hands as he tried to turn it. However, he mustered everything he had to get the door open.

"Fire," he said quietly, realizing his lungs no longer had the capacity for him to yell. However, he fought and managed to say more loudly, "Fire! Help!"

Just as he was about to lose consciousness completely, he heard someone open a door. Strong arms picked him up and carried him out the door.

"Oh my God! Is he okay?" He vaguely heard a female voice shout.

"Quick, get the windows open! I have my fire extinguisher. I can't believe the smoke alarms didn't even go off."

 _More yelling,_ Sam thought as his mind drifted as he lay on the carpeted floor of the hallway. He did notice that it was a bit easier to breathe though, now that he was out of the smoky apartment.

"We better get him to the hospital," Sam heard a male voice say.

"No," Sam said, hoarsely. His dad would kill him. "I'm fine," he whispered as he was again lifted. He realized he was so weak that he was in no condition to protest.

oooooo

The next couple of hours went by in a blur for Sam. First he was brought into the ER after his neighbor had carried him in there. He had been fitted with an oxygen mask because they said he had taken in a lot of smoke. After they had sent him for x rays. Then his hands were bathed and bandaged. It was difficult to describe how excruciating it was to have the burns cleaned, as he saw blisters covering his hands and pieces of his skin floating in the basin of water. He'd almost passed out but he learned a long time ago how to breathe through the pain.

Both of his hands were burned pretty badly but the left one was worse than the other. He figured it was the one he had used to try to beat the fire out of the turkey with the towel. He couldn't even move the fingers on his left hand. They'd asked him for a phone number and he'd reluctantly given them his dad's cellphone number. It was nearing 11 AM so he figured it be better if his dad got the bad news before he made it home to a scorched kitchen and no sign of him there.

A nurse had just left him, after he asked for the thousandth time if he could take off the oxygen mask because he was breathing much better and she again promised the doctor would be back soon.

He was staring mindlessly at an overhead TV turned to a rerun of Saved By the Bell thinking of what a fool he was. He'd learned Mrs. Wagner's older son had brought him to the hospital. He'd wished him well, but he could imagine how he'd ruined their Thanksgiving and how much of a liar he now looked like. The whole family probably hated him.

"Sammy?" He almost jumped when he heard his name.

It was Dean, standing before him, white gauze taped over his eyebrow.

"Sammy, are you okay?" He asked anxiously, stepping forward.

Sam attempted to answer but it came out sounding muffled due to the oxygen mask. He tried to remove it but failed due to his damaged hands.

Just then, John stepped in as well, eyeing Sam critically. When he saw he was still breathing, Sam swore his expression flipped to one of mild concern to one of contempt.

"What the hell were you thinking, Sam?" His father asked, angrily.

"Dad, lay off okay," Dean interjected.

The doctor walked around the curtain then. He cleared his throat as if to announce his arrival.

"How are you doing Sam?" The doctor asked.

Sam nodded his head that he was okay. He listened to Sam's lungs and then removed the mask.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, again.

"I'm okay," Sam said, hoarsely from the smoke inhalation, and then let out a barking cough.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" John asked the doctor pointedly.

"He took in a lot of smoke but his x rays weren't too bad. He might have a cough and sound a bit hoarse for a couple of days.

"What about his hands?"

"He sustained second degree burns to both hands, his left one being the worst. He'll need to keep the burns covered and apply antibiotic cream as directed."

"So he's fine then?" John said, while Dean glared at him.

"Yes, he'll be okay. We'd like to keep him here a couple more hours just to make sure that his breathing is okay. We'll release him this afternoon and then you can enjoy what is left of your holiday," the doctor said, eyeing John critically as if he could read his mind.

"I'd advise you to stay away from the oven. Turkeys are tricky and need to be left to the experts," the doctor added with a wink. Then he was gone.

"I was just trying to make you guys dinner," Sam sputtered after the doctor had gone and John looked at him sternly.

"You could have burned down the whole place and left those people homeless," John said, angrily. "It was a stupid move."

"I know," Sam said, sadly, as tears threatened.

Dean was quiet, looking from Sam to his father, as if he didn't know what to say.

"I'm going to head back to the apartment and see if they need help with anything," John said. "I am glad you're okay, son," he added, even though Sam felt it was just an afterthought.

"I'll stay with Sam," Dean said. "I'm actually still a bit dizzy."

John just nodded before exiting.

"Are _you_ okay, Dean?" Sam asked, nervously, once John left.

"Yeah, Sammy I'm fine. Just a bump on the head. I didn't even get knocked out, but I was a bit disoriented. You know the protocol with dad. If you don't know where you are, hospital. Plus I had the cut on the head."

"Are you still feeling dizzy though?"

"Not really," Dean replied, shrugging.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said, suddenly.

"For what?" Dean asked.

"For not being there to back you up. I lied before about the play. I didn't really have to be in it and it wasn't half my grade either."

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is Dean. You got hurt. "

"And so did you," Dean said. "When we got back to the apartment and saw the kitchen, I thought maybe you were..." Dean dropped off. "There were burn marks and all I could think of was..." Dean continued, but then stopped abruptly.

 _Mom._

Sam knew that's what Dean wanted to say, and he felt even worse for his carelessness and for bringing back horrible memories for his brother.

"Then when we walked in here and I saw you with the mask on, it really freaked me out. Just stay away from fire okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, still feeling guilty, not even correcting his brother on calling him his old nickname repeatedly. He was 15 now and didn't want to be known as Sammy.

"Wait a minute. You mean you made it back home? You weren't still at the hotel?" Sam asked.

"Yeah we got the call right after we saw the place. We'd driven back early. I know dad can act like a jerk sometimes Sam, but he was pretty frantic."

"Well he didn't act like it," Sam said, quietly.

"I know, but that's just his way," Dean replied. "He doesn't want anything happening to you."

"Mind if I come in?" A nurse asked, poking her head into the room.

"Sure," Sam replied.

"It's just about lunch time and we are having turkey dinner with all the fixings. Would you like some?" She asked Sam.

Sam looked hesitant.

"Only if my brother can have some too," Sam said, flashing his puppy dog eyes.

"You bet," she said, smiling.

oooooo

Not too long after, Sam and Dean sat enjoying turkey legs and real mashed potatoes. Sam sat propped up in bed, while Dean was lounging on a chair.

"You sure you can manage over there," Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "My right hand isn't too bad," Sam continued, trying to maneuver his fork.

"This isn't too bad as far as Thanksgivings go," Dean said, between chewing.

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "Sorry there is no pie though."

"Oh yes there is," Dean said, smiling. "I snagged this from the house before dad and I left. I know what you were doing for us Sam with making us dinner. You even remembered the pie. Thank you."

Sam didn't say anything, a lump forming in his throat.

Dean pulled the cover off the pie and grabbed a plastic knife to cut them both a piece of pie. They were joking good naturedly, enjoying their food and each other's company.

"So how was the play?"

"It was awesome, actually."

"You are such a nerd," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"I got a standing ovation, Dean!"

"Oh can I have your autograph!" Dean exclaimed, sarcastically, when John walked in.

He stood in the door frame, just watching his sons as an awkward silence passed.

"I just talked to Mrs. Wagner, Sam. I thanked her for helping get you out and she said that, um..." he stuttered. "She wanted me to thank you. She said the building isn't exactly up to code and with no working smoke alarms, and it was a good thing you yelled for help. Thanks to you, the damage was only centered on the kitchen. Now hopefully they can get the smoke alarms fixed too and prevent any future tragedies. Good job, son," John finished, quietly.

"Thanks dad," Sam said, shyly. He knew his dad was being sincere and he was proud of him.

"It kind of brought back memories," John said, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed. "Reminded me of your mom and our first Thanksgiving too. She didn't thaw it or prepare it correctly either. Even though it was burned pretty badly, it still tasted good though," John said, his face full of nostalgia.

Sam swore he saw a hint of a smile on his dad's face, something he rarely saw. He felt tears again sting his eyes because he was honored to be like his mother, and also heartbroken that his dad had lost her. Sam knew it had changed him forever.

"They are springing you so I'm going to pull the car up," John said, clearing his throat. "I think it's time we moved on. Mrs. Wagner actually gave me this too," John said, holding up a plate. "Some turkey and other stuff they were going to eat."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, both full, but Sam thought he saw a twinkle in Dean's eye.

"You're a hero, Sammy," Dean said, once John had left again.

"Thanks Dean," Sam answered.

Not only was his stomach full, but he was also full of thanks. He was lucky to have his family and even though he knew a lot had to be worked out between him and his father, he was thankful he had him. He was even thankful he'd spent part of the holiday in the hospital because it meant he got to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner with his brother.

"I can't wait to get out of here," Dean said. "Now we'll have even more turkey."

"Dude, we just ate," Sam said, slightly nauseous.

"I just hope she gave us some pie," Dean said, ignoring Sam.

Sam just rolled his eyes.

"You better not overdo it. I'm not going to be smelling toxic fumes in the car," Sam said, only half jokingly.

Dean flung some left over mashed potato, and it landed squarely on his head.

Sam laughed, despite the fact that his hair was now a mess, because he was thankful for his sometimes annoying, but mostly wonderful, big brother above all.

The End.

Thank you for reading. I'm always thankful for reviews ;)


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